


Feeling is Believing

by sixappleseeds



Series: The Evolution of Pynch [7]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixappleseeds/pseuds/sixappleseeds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Begins ten minutes after the conclusion of "Telling the Truth."  Ronan's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling is Believing

Ronan stood at the window of Adam’s apartment, Chainsaw cradled in his arm. On the nights he spent at St Agnes, she kept watch in the tree outside. But right now he needed something to hold onto, and when he’d wrenched open the screen she’d flown to his shoulder and bumped her head against his cheek.  
  
He heard the sounds of apartment’s tiny shower behind him. “Let me wash off first,” Adam had murmured. He’d pressed himself briefly against Ronan, hadn’t quite kissed him but ducked in close enough that Ronan had felt the promise of it, before leaning back again. “I am filthy. Just a couple of minutes, okay?”  
  
Ronan ran his fingers down the smooth feathers of Chainsaw’s back, over and over. She’d dozed off, her heart beating fast and steady against his skin. Ronan wished he could relax as easily.  
  
He had spent all of Mass trying to convince himself that last night was a dream. After seeing Adam’s expression this morning, the alternative was too terrible to contemplate. So Ronan tried, through the hymns ( _I dreamed this, it didn’t happen, I dreamed it_ ), through the litany ( _It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it couldn’t’ve been real_ ), and through the homily ( _Please. Please. God, I’m sorry_ ). But as he accepted the Host, Ronan closed his eyes and tasted not the wafer and wine, or body and blood, or whatever he was supposed to be experiencing, but Adam. And he knew his prayers for the lies they were.  
  
Chainsaw stirred, grumbling a little. He switched from stroking her back to scratching gently just behind her head. She puffed up her feathers and cooed.  
  
He rolled his shoulders, and tested himself for the senseless anger he knew so well. A lot had happened in the world of Ronan Lynch these past twenty-four hours, and it roiled inside of him, seeking an outlet: a fist through the wall, a slammed door, a snarl and a shouting match.  He’d come tonight prepared for all of those things. None of those things would have been the truth. He didn’t know what to do instead.  
  
The shower shut off behind him. He quickly set Chainsaw on the windowsill and made little shooing noises until she took off. He heard her croak from somewhere in the branches beyond as he shut the screen again.  “See you in the morning,” he whispered into the shadows. Or sooner. Ronan found he couldn’t hope that everything would be alright; _hope_ was what he’d had before last night. This was uncharted territory.  
  
When Adam opened the bathroom door, shoving it a little because it always stuck in its frame, Ronan still stood at the window, hands shoved in his pockets, staring into the night. He heard Adam hesitate. Ronan realized he could see Adam’s reflection and cut his gaze down, away.  
  
Adam padded over to where Ronan stood. Ronan had curled his hands into fists: he felt his nails cutting into his palms. He tried to relax, and probably only managed to look threatening instead.  
  
“You talk with your body, Ronan,” Adam said, his low voice full of Henrietta. Ronan felt goosebumps rise across his skin.  “Talk to me.”  
  
Ronan sighed, tried to push all of the tension out of him. “I don’t know what to do now,” he murmured finally. He heard the edge in his voice and swallowed. There were very few people around whom Ronan would let his fears show like this. Gansey was one such person. Adam the other.  
  
“I thought you’d hate me,” he continued in the same half-whisper. He felt Adam step closer, felt the other boy’s breath sketch a line over Ronan’s shoulder. “I thought I’d fucked this all up.”  
  
“I’m the one who ruins things.” Adam said it like it was always true. It wasn’t, but Ronan didn’t think he could make Adam believe that. They stood in silence as moments turned to minutes, and Ronan tried not to count all of the ways he could still fuck it all up.  He didn’t look at his or Adam’s reflections in the window before him. He stared hard at the scuffed windowsill instead, until he caught himself wondering if Adam ever got splinters just from trying to catch a breeze.  
  
Adam took a breath, just behind him. Ronan braced himself.  
  
“Can I see your tattoo?”  
  
This was not what Ronan had expected Adam to say. Now he did look at the window. Adam’s reflection lifted a brow. “Sure,” he heard himself say. It wouldn’t be anything new. Adam had certainly seen the tattoo before.  He pulled his teeshirt over his head, but left it bunched around his arms as if he might put it back on in a moment. Just in case he needed to.  
  
Adam leaned closer. Ronan watched in the window, felt his skin prickle in anticipation.  He tried - and promptly failed - to not remember his dreams. _Scio quid hoc est..._ Did he? Did Adam know?  
  
When Ronan saw Adam raise a hand, extend one of those long fingers to Ronan’s shoulder, he shivered. Adam looked up. Their eyes met in the window’s reflection, and Adam cracked a grin. Then, not breaking Ronan’s gaze, Adam ran his finger along the lines inked down Ronan’s neck. Ronan couldn’t help it; he groaned.  
  
“God, Ronan,” Adam said. He sounded a little awestruck. Ronan closed his eyes, because now Adam was tracing his way down Ronan’s back, over the lines and swirls, with one finger, and then another, and then both hands pressing into Ronan’s flesh. Ronan was trembling all over, trembling with the effort of holding himself together.  How could this possibly be real? Even as he arched under Adam’s hands, even as he twisted his teeshirt around his fists, he still couldn’t believe this wouldn’t stop. _I’m not gay_ , Adam had said not a half an hour ago. _I’m not a faggot_ , Adam’s horrified expression had told him just this morning.  
  
But then Adam, here and now with his hands on Ronan’s back, pressed his mouth into the curve of Ronan’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Ronan’s chest. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered against Ronan’s jaw.  
  
Ronan swallowed, felt his throat brush Adam’s nose. “Then do it,” he managed.  _Do it and prove me wrong. Please._ He kept his eyes closed.  
  
Adam wasn’t wearing a shirt. Ronan could feel, with exquisite precision, every brush of skin as Adam slowly turned Ronan around. Ronan’s own shirt was still bunched around his hands; he heard Adam’s low half-laugh, and then his fingers were over Ronan’s, gently pulling the teeshirt away. A pause.  “I’m going to turn out the light,” Adam stated. He moved away for a moment. “And then you’re going to open your eyes.”  The light went out. “And then I’m going to kiss you. Ronan Lynch.”  
  
Ronan opened his eyes. Adam was before him, gaze steady, clad only in a pair of sweatpants. In the glow from the streetlight outside, Ronan watched as Adam flicked his eyes down to Ronan’s mouth, watched as Adam’s mouth parted in a shadow of a grin. He met Ronan’s eyes again, and quirked a brow.  
  
Fucking hell, he was waiting for Ronan to ask for it. They stood inches apart, heat radiating between them, and Adam was waiting for Ronan to ask.  
  
There was no way this wasn’t real.  
  
Ronan took a shuddering breath, and bridged the gap between them.  
  
Last night, they had come together like lightning and thunder, or like lightning and the tallest tree on a hillside. There was nothing purposeful about it. It was practically an accident. It had felt like one this morning.  
  
Now, however, as Adam feathered his hands up Ronan’s back, as Ronan traced the line of Adam’s collarbone with his own fingers, he found himself cataloguing details, storing them in the part of his brain that dreamed real things.  
  
Adam’s hair, still wet from his shower. Ronan felt cool drops slide along his wrist as he brushed his hand over Adam’s temple.  Adam’s mouth, tasting of toothpaste, and his cheek, freshly shaven. Ronan felt his own stubble scratch along Adam’s chin, heard with some surprise the tiny groan he made as Adam rubbed his cheek against Ronan’s. Ronan smelled Adam’s two-in-one shampoo, and the bar soap he used, and then Adam was biting Ronan’s ear and he forgot to think entirely.  
  
“Fuck, Parrish,” Ronan gasped. “How’d you get so good at this?” Adam replied by kissing his way down Ronan’s neck, back to the bruises he had given Ronan the night before. Ronan realized he should probably try something clever with his hands, give back somehow, but as Adam licked him right -- _there_ , Christ! -- it was all he could do to remain standing.  
  
“I like kissing,” Adam murmured finally. Ronan had nearly forgotten his original question.  Adam was applying himself to the edges of Ronan’s tattoo, one hand gripping the back of Ronan’s head, the other dipping below the waistband of Ronan’s pants. Ronan had wrapped his arms around Adam’s body, hanging on like he might drown otherwise. Then Adam’s words registered.  
  
 _I like kissing_. Because of course Adam had done this before. Of course he had kissed people. Kissed _girls_. Girls who probably knew what they were doing, who didn’t just stand there, who kept Adam interested so he kissed them again.  Ronan took a gasping breath. Adam stopped.  
  
“Ronan?” he said. He pulled back, frowning. “Everything alright?” He ran a hand over Ronan’s jaw, studied his face. “Did I do something wrong?”  
  
Adam had done nothing wrong: it was Ronan who had no idea what came next. Adam kissed like he had years of experience, while all Ronan had were his fucking dreams. Dreams. Ronan felt a knot of resolve form in his belly, managed to return Adam’s questioning smile with one of his own. He had his dreams. He dropped to his knees.    
  
“Ronan, what -- ?” Adam cut himself off when Ronan pressed his nose between Adam’s hips. He could do this. Ronan slid his hands around to grip Adam’s ass, smelled the laundry soap on Adam’s sweats.  
  
“Let me...” he whispered. Adam’s hand brushed across Ronan’s head, and Ronan trembled. He felt Adam tense in return. “Let me just give you...” If he could taste Adam’s cock hard in his mouth, he would be giving back, Adam would want him, and they both would know that this was real.  
  
“Ronan.” Adam’s voice was hoarse. Ronan didn’t dare look up. “Ronan, I’m not asking for this.”  
  
Ronan felt something fall inside of him. No. Adam’s hands, those long, elegant fingers, caressed Ronan’s head and it felt like an apology. _No_. Ronan pulled himself closer, wrapped his arms around Adam’s hips, fisted his hands into Adam’s back. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he ground out.  He still couldn’t look up into Adam’s face.  All he felt against his own face was softness. Soft fabric and soft laundry scent and soft flesh. This couldn’t be it.  
  
Gentle fingers curled under Ronan’s jaw and guided his face up. Adam’s eyes were narrowed, not with revulsion but instead a kind of speculation, like he was trying to discern the depth of Ronan’s sincerity. Ronan looked back, willed Adam to find answers in his gaze to questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask.  He put as much of himself into his eyes as he could, but all he had were his fears and his truth. _Please don’t let this be the end..._  
  
Finally Adam rubbed a thumb over Ronan’s brow. Ronan dropped his arms. He would have looked away if Adam’s hand under his chin hadn’t tightened.  
  
“You want to,” Adam said at last. It wasn’t quite a question. Ronan nodded. This was more than a desire: it was a sudden need to know for certain that he could affect Adam as deeply as Adam was affecting him. But he nodded and hoped that would be enough.  
  
“Well then.” Adam released Ronan’s jaw and set his hand on top of Ronan’s head again. “It’s okay if you change your mind,” he added abruptly. “If you don’t like it.”  Ronan realized Adam’s hand was trembling. His other hand was curled into the waistband of his sweats. Ronan could see the point of Adam’s hip. Would Adam like it if Ronan kissed him there?  
  
“I don’t think I’ll change my mind,” Ronan replied. He batted Adam’s hand away, and pulled down his sweats.  
  
It wasn’t like his dreams. His dreams were built on barely articulated desires, and, lately, scenes stolen from the Internet. The experience was far from complete.  This, on the other hand, was incredible. Adam’s fingernails pressed into Ronan’s scalp, points of pain grounding him acutely to this moment. The sensation of Adam’s cock growing in his mouth, the heaviness of it there, the heat as Ronan gripped the base of it with his hand, was enough to fuel his dreams for the next decade. Add to that the tickle of hair against his nose, the scent that was like pure, undiluted Adam Parrish, and Adam’s voice panting directions above him, and Ronan was nearly overwhelmed.  
  
“Jesus,” Adam gasped. “Yes, that’s it. Little bit softer, little bit -- yes, yesyesyes, fuck, Ronan. _Ronan_. Don’t stop. Unless you want to. But please don’t.”  
  
It was not like his dreams. It was far more complicated -- in his dreams he didn’t need to figure out breathing, or take care not to scrape Adam with his teeth -- and it was also far, far better. He ran his tongue along the slit of Adam’s cock, tasted the pre-cum there, and sucked. Adam moaned, and it ended with, _“You fucker.”_   Ronan would’ve laughed if he could’ve. He glanced up at Adam’s face instead, saw he was half-grinning and wide-eyed, and winked. Adam rocked his hips in response, once as a question, and then more steadily.  
  
Ronan’s own cock was throbbing painfully inside his pants. He tried to ignore it. Adam was fucking his mouth, short thrusts between Ronan’s hand, and it was better than anything Ronan had imagined.  Because it was real. It was not a dream, or an accident. Adam’s expression, as he looked down at Ronan looking up at him, was one of awe -- as if he, Ronan Lynch, half-naked and on his knees sucking cock, was worthy of Adam’s adulation. Maybe he was.  
  
“Wait, stop,” Adam gasped suddenly. Ronan froze. Adam pulled away. Ronan was mortified to hear himself whimper. “I’m gonna come,” Adam breathed. “Wait.” They were both panting. “That was good, that was, God it was so good...” Adam ran his hands over Ronan’s head. “God,” he said again. “Ronan, you’re incredible.”  
  
 _Then why’d you make me stop?_   Ronan scowled up at Adam. He was more than aware of his own cock, and of his aching knees against the hardwood floor.  
  
“Bed,” Adam said. “Can we move this there?”  
  
Ronan blinked. “Ah,” he said intelligently. He stood, bracing a hand on his knee. Adam shoved off his sweatpants and disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged a moment later with a bottle of hand cream, pausing when he saw Ronan still standing with his pants on.  
  
“We don’t have to,” Adam said. His features now read more wariness than reverence.  
  
“What did you have in mind?” Ronan eyed the bottle, and then Adam. He wasn’t sure he was ready for anything more than what he’d already offered.  
  
Adam tossed the hand cream onto his mattress and crossed back to Ronan. “We kiss again, like this.” He kissed Ronan once, hard. “You take off your damn pants.” He rubbed the skin just below Ronan’s belt. Ronan grunted. “We go to bed. And you touch me, and I touch you, and we... ” He shrugged. “You know. Mess around. Until we both come.”  His fingers danced down to brush Ronan’s cock, and then his own. He looked at Ronan.  “If that’s what you want,” he added.  
  
 _This is real_ , Ronan thought. _I’m not going to believe anything different_. “Yeah,” he said. He met Adam’s gaze, and felt that sense of hope again, no longer tinged with desperation. “Yes.” He began to undo his belt. “Yes, Adam, that is what I want.”  
  
.  
  
Later, much, much later, grey dawn came sneaking into Adam’s window. Ronan grumbled and buried his face into the crook of Adam’s arm.  
  
Adam’s arm. Oh.  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
“Morning, sunshine,” Adam murmured sleepily. He stretched, hands pressing into the wall behind him, lazy as cat.  
  
Ronan propped himself up on his elbow. He needed to see Adam’s face. After a moment, the other boy’s eyes blinked open. They regarded one another.  
  
“You know,” Adam said after a moment. He reached a hand up to touch the fresh bruises he’d left on Ronan’s chest. “You didn’t need to suck my cock to prove I wanted you. You know that, right?”  
  
Ronan glanced away, looked at Adam’s shoulders instead. They were covered with freckles. Ronan was suddenly and absurdly delighted by this. He dropped down to the pillow again, let Adam wrap his arms around him, and kissed Adam’s shoulder. Adam was still watching him, so he nodded. Adam’s eyes drifted shut again.  
  
“Wake me up in an hour,” he muttered against Adam’s freckles. “I have to get Chainsaw.”  
  
Adam snorted. “Wake yourself up.” He passed Ronan the alarm clock he kept by his bed. “I am staying right here.”  
  
Maybe Ronan didn’t need to know what to do next. Maybe “right here” could be just fine.  He set the clock for an hour later. Then he curled himself into Adam’s arms, and drifted back to sleep.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
